Went to the hospice today. A very sobering experience, place to be sure. Very classy, tasteful. Not intrinsically depressing, as when I visited Bellevue Hospital in NYC once, Dec. 1983 (that was a downer!) but you felt so much gravitas, this oppressive weight upon your being. Death in threes for me lately. A painter friend from up north, approximately 81 in age died on the weekend. Another friend lost his mother, she was mid-80s, ravaged by Alzheimer’s (so a blessing but still tough to take) and now a cousin, age 71 dying. Is life washing over me just as powerfully? Signing up for dance lessons was about energy, being out there, confronting fear, taking a risk. That felt like life to me. What else has been so dramatically empowering, life giving?
Keep thinking of the verse in the film “walk the line” about Johnny Cash, (with Joachim Phoenix) when he has a duet on stage with June Carter and they sing the refrain “Time’s a wastin’…”
All this makes me want to be honest, open with people NOW and not wait. Not hold back. The antidote to nothingness (and be as existentialist as you want in your reading of it) makes me want to be authentic and real. When I came out, I had exactly these feelings. Being genuine bred in me a desire to be that constantly, everywhere, always. Conversely I am so down on fakery, living the lie, fooling yourself, It is very painful to see those you love exist in a sham relationship.
This is another reason the bi erasure, the bi invisibility aspect sticks in my craw. What I am striving for more than ever is to be out there, to be counted, to stand up and take notice and society sometimes tells me “you don’t count, you are not real, it is a phase you are going through”. That is why I get on my soapbox and hobbyhorse.
A friend said to me 2 days ago, “Why the hell are we here?”. I replied; “Not to get as many toys, to polish our ego”.
Read this book below, and liked it. Check it out.
Told someone today that I no longer think about sex at all. Before I got another word in she simultaneously harrumphed, rolled her eyes and guffawed and said that’s all you think about. I recanted and said, “OK, I am just thinking about dancing a lot.” Am just pondering communication lately. So much of life to me goes back to being alone, telling-owning our story/narrative. having someone hear us out. The ancient Greek (and other cultures) myths knew this in spades. When Homer was sung to thousands of people millenia ago, they heard a tale, but it was also their own story, being narrated. Owning-Admitting-Acknowledging I keep returning to that triplet. Who we are and what we are and then our relationship to each other, as individuals and in a community. This is tough sledding indeed in 2014 with the atomization of life, the hyper individualism at work in society. THE consumer word these days is “My”. What happened to the word “our”. I can never forget how Dante Alighieri in the in the very first line of his famous poem The Divine Comedy writes how t this is OUR life (la nostra vita) and we are necessarily involved in his journey.
Nel mezzo del camin di nostra vita. Midway the journey of OUR life. That is how Dante starts.
The opposite of life is not death. It’s choosing not to live because you are afraid, dwelling in fear or living a lie. Death we are told IS a part of life. Is it the end? Who the heck knows. Every single person that has ever lived, that ever will live, was once part of a star. Preposterous, unfortunately true. Doubt I can top that for sheer poetry.
A friend wrote that he would rather have the world hate him for who and what he is (gay) rather than hate himself for who and what he is.
Jesus said you will know the truth and it will set you free. Knowing my own truth certainly liberated me. There are two women I am very close to that I want to hug, hold, shake, grab, rattle and say “stand up for yourself. Love and accept yourself. You do not have forever!” I love the early christian imagery of a people risen, who stood up, that they were redeemed, made whole, touched by grace. Unhappily that very positive notion gave way to then centuries upon centuries of guilt, shame, and grovelling.
Being bi is beautiful.
Just needed to insert some images of life into the blog post that was about death, that was penned with a heavy heart. Excuse the non sequitur nature of the written word bumping up against an image.